And Other Things
by Mazzie May
Summary: Rogue has to admit her life isn't the death sentence she'd rather make it out to be. A series of sometimes connected but usually not pieces about Rogue and her relationships, romantic or otherwise. Primarily light-hearted while dodging the fluff bullet.
1. Bobby

**Author's Note: I thought I'd write an author's note before the story.**

**I don't know what I was thinking**

**And Other Things**

_**Peas and Qs**_

_By: mazziemay_

Rogue can't eat her food if it's touching.

What started as a weak display of defiance has grown from habit to requirement in less than a year. Originally, she just did it to make the adults' lives more difficult, acting out in a way that was noticeable but so minor she couldn't be reprimanded. Not that Storm had ever done anything to earn the extra work, but Rogue would take what she could get back in the day. From there, it grew in to a need to enforce control in her life. She experiences so little of it that she when she finds something she _can _control, she doesn't just hang on to it—she chokes it.

Or maybe she just hates when things _touch_. She can't touch, why do her mushrooms get to make out with her potatoes?

Whatever.

Anyway. She's still at the table, well after dinner is done and everyone else has rinsed their dishes and wandered off to do other things. Steak covered in mushroom sauce with a side of peas. The peas were _everywhere_, and needed to be systematically relocated to an edible position. She kind of likes when they forget she's food neurotic; she gets just a little more a chance to do things Her Way (which is not a way that's done often).

"Fah-_reek_." Without lifting her head much, Rogue shoots Bobby a look. Easily having that teenage-boy-metabolism-thing down pact, Bobby is always coming back for thirds, and has recently taken to moving near Rogue as the seats free up at night. She doesn't think much of it since he's social, and seeing as how Rogue doesn't like to talk and he doesn't like to listen, they make for odd but welcome company.

"Ah guess Ah should be con_cern_ed then," she responds with an air of boredom, waving her gravyless fork in his direction. "If that's comin' from _you_, of ahl people; you're just as pickeh."

"Pik-ee, Rogue. Pik-_ee_." Her wrist goes limp and she lifts her head enough to give him a scowl, though her hearts not really in it. He just smiles at her through a mouthful of potatoes.

Rogue likes Bobby alright. He's super spacey and suffers Only Child Syndrome like whoa, but he has this weird naïve jerkness combination going on that's both exhausting and hilarious. Very much like the ice he creates, he's transparent, the worst liar she's ever met and painfully sincere; no filter on his brain, he just says whatever comes to mind, good, bad or ugly. If Rogue's being honest with herself (which, let's face it, she isn't most of the time), she sort of envies his refusal to acknowledge boundaries. Bobby takes no prisoners in the teasing department, everyone's fair game and he'll do anything for a good joke. It's hard to be in a bad mood around him and that's a quality she admires.

"Ah'll smack the taste from your mouth, boy," she warms, a piece of stake and a sliced mushroom on the fork she points at him.

Bobby stares at her deadpan. "Oh my god, she's getting all _Southern _on me. Now say 'cicada'."

She glares at him, chewing slowly, and he returns it with one of his own. Only it looks more like he just ate a sour candy and she can only hold his squinty stare for a beat before her hand shoots to cover her still full mouth so nothing flies out as she laughs. Another thing she likes about Bobby? He's the only one in the mansion who can make her Laugh Out Loud. Normally it's just a smirk or a chuckle, but Bobby has gotten her to laugh so hard she cried and ruined her make up on more than one occasion.

Smiling as though he's proud of himself (he _is_; Rogue's laughter is no mere feat), he shovels another fork full of peas and gravy into his mouth. "Gah." He stares at his plate like it's betrayed him. "This needs something." Surprise, surprise. Much like a kindergartener, Bobby only eats five things: Snickers bars, chicken patties, Ants On A Log, s'mores, and a super special fifth category for things with what he describes as 'mega-flavour.' She sets the salt on his side of the table.

He only stares at it.

And stares at it.

And stares at it.

And then looks at her in horror.

Rogue raises an eyebrow as she takes another bite.

"Rogue." He begins, brow creased, tone serious. Her other eyebrow joins the first. "Did you just give me… salt?" She stops chewing for a moment to look down at the shaker in question and resumes with a nod. "Rogue. I'm Iceman. _Ice_man? Salt **melts** ice." She snorts. "It's not funny, Rogue!" And he slams his fist on the table top. "I could've died!" Her fork drops to her plate, and she has both hands over her mouth as her head is dropped with shoulders shaking, trying everything she can to not blow peas all over the table.

"_Died_!"

She fails.

The next morning, Bobby proceeds to tell—nay, _show_—everyone a dramatic reenactment of how Rogue tried to kill them that night. Only in this version of the story, she succeeded, only to realize the error of her ways and cry over his body. Her tears are made of peas. Even while everyone rolled their eyes, they laughed. Rogue glares at him from her spot behind the couch, but as usual her heart isn't in it.

As they leaving for school, Bobby pops a piece of gum in his mouth, handing her the wrapper. "Here. I got this for you." And then he's gone. Rogue's laughter is quiet and surprised as Kitty lets out a super offended, "_Rude!_" She stuffs the foil into her coat pocket, heading for Lance's Jeep with a tired smile.

Bobby would eventually confess in a very Bobby way that he did all that because he _like-_likes her, and they'd both learn that she can't drain him through the ice. They'd learn a lot of things in those seven months.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: So holy balls it's been a while since I've written anything! Well, written anything **_**here**_**, anyway. Like the story summary says, just a collection of short stuffs about Rogue and her various interactions and slash or relationships with teammates, enemies and people she just happens to know. I don't want to call them one shots, since some of them will be linking back to a previous post or leading up to another, so. They're just… shots. That skip around in her life and will be generally very confusing as a time frame. I apologize orz**

**Logan is next, I think.**

**Review as you please! **


	2. Remy

**Author's Note: Did I say Logan? Because I meant Remy. **

**You can see the confusion there, right? Since, you know. **_**They are**__** spelled with entirely different letters**_**.**

* * *

**And Other Things**

_A Certain Type_

Rogue learned so many things about herself when she started seeing Gambit.

'Started seeing.' More like finally conceded defeat, throwing in the towel and hoisting the white flag. It was a hard fought war, don't think otherwise; holding out until after her twentieth birthday, after he joined the X-men full time. After his casual flirting got more personal and his constant dating thinned. She's not so sure what was different about that night: he'd been out on a date with some nameless girl and had brought her back a dessert. Pretty typical Saturday (assuming he came home). He must've put something in it because in between her taking a bite while she glared at him over the treat, and him insisting he only took other girls because he had to show up for his reservations with SOMEone, the spoon ended up on the floor with her pressed against the refrigerator with his knee in between her legs. Her hands found his shoulder blades, his mouth took to her neck and they both sighed when he eventually pulled away. Her turtle neck was damp where the hickey formed.

Where was she going with this?

Oh yeah.

After that—man, that memory is _distracting_—they became pretty much official, and Rogue finds mildly annoying girlfriend traits she didn't know she had nearly every day. Today, for example, she'd been out shopping with Kitty. It's not her cup of tea really, even if she's grown more fashion conscious as the years have drawn on, but she goes for Kitty. Ever since Lance's brutal vanishing act, everyone's made it a point to keep Kitty occupied so she doesn't dwell. After all, he wouldn't have left (again) if it weren't for them (again). Another story for another time, though.

So they'd been shopping, and before Rogue even realized it, she was in the Men's department, sifting through button up shirts. What's worse is the _why_: Gambit certainly rocks the blacks to be sure, but she'd like to see him in something else. She's picking out clothes for him. Without him. Even after she made herself leave the area, she still ended up with a bag for herself and one with a few things for Remy.

Christ.

His bag sits on the island counter in the kitchen as she rifles through the fridge. Odd Numbers are running the training sim with Logan (there are so many of them now regular training sessions are divided into three groups: ID numbers ending in odd, even and zero), and Gambit always likes to grab a bite afterwords. She glares at the pastrami she pulls out. She's making him snacks. _God._ She never did anything this cutesy with Bobby, where is all of this coming from?

"Why does seventeen feel farther back than three years?" she mutters, plucking up the horseradish and turning towards the plate she set out.

"'Cause y' been lookin' like a woman far long'r den dat," comes the saucy reply. She snorts, spinning the bread bag open. Didn't have as much time as she thought. "Is true, _chere_! Y' were _all kinds _of jail bait. Da Lord gave dis Cajun quite a test when He put y' in fron' of me."

Rogue rolls her eyes, peeling away a leaf of lettuce. "Would serve ya right," and then another leaf, "Fer kissin' little girls."

"_Mais_" She can hear him drop his duster on a chair, the heavy objects in his pockets clunking against the wood. "Who kissed whom, eh, _chere_?" She doesn't respond because, well, she doesn't want to start that argument. _Mastermind kissed you, Gambit. Ya still braggin'? _The bread pops out of the toaster, though, and gives her an excuse to ignore the question. There's a dragging sound against the island top as she dips the knife into the horseradish jar. "What dis?"

"Went shoppin'," she starts, the sound of the bag being opened and searched follows her statement. Rogue scowls at the side of his head. Nosy. The next part is going to be tricky. He never lets her live this shit down. Ever. "Got that stuff for ya."

She can hear his smile. Goddamn it.

"Aw _chere_, _pour_ _moi_?" he starts, and she wants to throw the stupid sandwich at his stupid, handsome face. She needs to beat him to it or she'll lose the upper hand. Why does she need the upper hand? Because she's a control freak, shut up.

"Got some pajama pants for ya." _That _does the trick. He's digging in the bag now, but she's got most of his attention. "For ya to keep in my room."

Now she has all of it.

Because of the alarming fact that the student residency at the Xavier Institute _quadrupled _in as many years, the professor made the wise call of adding dormitories—one for girls and one for boys—farther out near the tennis courts. Rogue, Storm, Logan, Kitty, Bobby, Scott and Jean, Hank and of course the professor himself are still in the mansion. Those rooms are mostly for Full Time X-men. Actual students and/or junior members are out in the dorms. Though Storm and Logan's rooms stand empty a lot of the time: Ororo married a prince (!) and Logan is heavy on the soul searching. Gambit's room is also out in the dorms, but he sneaks into Rogue's a lot. It took some _mass _trial and error, but they've finally gotten to the point where neither of them will move while they sleep. He insists it's to spend time with her, but she thinks that a good chunk of it is simply to stick it to Scott and Logan.

This means him dropping in fully clothed. And even though she's taken to sleeping totally covered (it breaks the professor's heart to see how badly she's regressed. _Thanks _Mystique), he still can't just strip down, despite all his offers. Sleeping in jeans? Uncomfortable. Sleeping next to jeans? Just as bad.

"Ya keep me up, and it ain't the good kind of 'all night," she complains, finishing laying out the meat and placing the sauce covered slice on top. There's a sniff of offense taken from his side of the kitchen and Rogue smiles to herself. "If you're gonna keep on sneakin' inta my bed, make sure you got those on first."

She sets the plate down next to him as he holds the pants up. "Ah bought 'em, yer wearin' 'em." They're plaid, of the black, grey, a lighter grey and purple variety. She's always sneaking in purple. She _loves _him in purple. She loves him.

…

In purple. She loves him in purple. They're not using the 'L' word yet. Not out loud anyway. Or at least she isn't. What if he's not?

Before _that _particular spiral of self doubt and hysteria can get started, Rogue notices a certain look on his face. Gears are turning. The further his thoughtful smirk spreads, the more her eyes narrow.

"_So_," and he draws the word out as though looking for the right phrasing but she knows he already has something in mind. "Does dis mean if _I _buy y' sleepwear, y' have to—"

"**No**."

Of course this wouldn't even come close to stopping him from trying. Even got her to wear something once, dear _God_. Seriously. She did not know she was this kind of girlfriend. Even more surprising, she wasn't so much the jealous type. He is, though.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: I hate when you have an idea all worked out in your head, and then realize that life is too inconvenienced to let you sit down and type it up. I also hate when you sit down at work and scribble it all out on paper on your thirty minute break, thinking you've bought yourself some time, only to come to find you wrote it so quickly you can't read it. My wide 'cheerleader' hand writing looked like the bunch of curly-qs you usually see in cartoons for hand written notes. Probably would've been faster just to start over than take a decoder ring to it. **

**I'm not even going to try to predict who will be next, since I just proved I'm not psychic. I'd guess either Remy again or Scott. Maybe Jean.**

**Review as you please! **


	3. Scott

**Author's Note : When was this last updated? February? Ahahaha_aaah _**_**it hurts me**_

* * *

_**And Other Things**_

_Eventually_

Rogue values Scott's opinion.

Ever after the crush faded, she does her part to stay in a positive light in his covered eyes. She guesses a part of her will always want to be in his good graces, even when she thinks he's being close-minded, selfish and stupid. Not that Scott is any of those things often. But when he is? _Goddamn. _

Right now, she can't really decide how she feels about his actions lately. This morning she's back on Roster Duty. The X-men are spread a bit thin these days—Kitty left for college, Storm is volunteering her powers against the drought in Wakanda, Forge signing up with a government mutant group, and many more have graduated the school and gone off to join society. Until the new recruits finish training or more mutant adults join the cause, the X-men are something of a volunteer group right now.

That's where the roster—and Rogue—come in. Scott will always put the X-men first and will write up a schedule, regardless of personal lives. Somewhere along the way, it was unofficially decided that Rogue is the unofficial second-in-command: the team would come to her with their complaints, and she would get around to phone calls and shift swapping when it worked for the team. Scott has started dropping battle plans by her room in the mornings, and coming around at night to see if she had any suggestions or comments on them. Having used everyone's powers, Rogue knows which powers compliment and what gets in the way. And, having everyone in her head, she knows _who _can work together and whom can't. She and Scott spend many hours alone in the library, talking about good ideas and bad ideas.

_And what to get Jean for Valentine' Day without her knowing. _Rogue scribbles down names available for Tuesdays as Scott sits across from her, flipping through the jewelry catalog's pearl section. Laughter spills in from the hall, and Rogue smirks as she turns back to the pages. Scott lifts his head slightly and she knows he's looking at her.

"What?" is his amused question.

"Nothin'," she shrugs with a mild smile. "Just wonderin' what it's like to go stupid for someone." It's kind of a weird feeling for her, but ever since ending things with Bobby, she's been a lot more comfortable with the idea of being alone. It's suddenly…acceptable. Well, for her anyway. The others find her sudden peace on the subject rather worrisome. It's not like she's gonna be a nun or something, but let's be real here people. _C'mon_. But Scott's eyebrows are knit together, so she tips her head in admittance.

"Well, Ah mean. Ah _know_,_" _and she taps her temple with the end of her pen, what has become her general signal for referring to other people's thoughts and memories. "But Ah mean, like. 'Make Bad Life Decisions' kind of someone. Straight twitterpated, ya know? It's a different breed of stupid."

Scott sets the catalog down, looking up at the library's second floor. Rogue has to look slightly behind her to see what he's staring at. Jean's telekinetically reaching a book for Amara.

"Oh I don't know," he says after a moment. "It's not so bad." As if on cue, his wife turns her head towards them. He smiles and lifts his hand in acknowledgement, and Jean returns it with a wink and kiss to the air. Rogue rolls her eyes, going back to her list of names.

She doesn't, however, miss the slight nod Scott gives Jean. Great. They're having a telepathic conversation right over her head, right _through _her head. Awesome.

Scott clears his throat, and it takes Rogue a minute to realize he's trying to get her attention. A telepathic conversation _about her. _She drops the pen and doesn't bother hiding her annoyance. Joyous of joys.

"So, Rogue," he starts, and she's already frowning. This always happens with Jean, always _always_; Scott and Logan know when to leave well enough alone, but not Jean. Any heartfelt talks those two guys initiate with Rogue is always do to Jean's consisting insistence. _God._

"Yeah, what?" He ignores her tone.

"There's been something I've been meaning—"

"You mean Jean's been meaning, right?"

"-That **I**, **Scott Christopher Summers**¸ have been meaning to talk to you about," he presses on, and Rogue kind of has to smirk at the slight scowl he's wearing now. Because let's face it, Scott doesn't like when someone is on to his shit, and that's funny.

"And what is that?"

He doesn't care for her dry tone, and she doesn't need his glasses off to see that. "Give me your hands."

Even though she's sitting, she grips the table to catch herself. "Excuse me?"

"Hands, give them to me." She stares at him like a tree branch has grown out of the side of his head. He makes an impatient 'come here' gesture, and looks down at her with eyebrows raised. "Come on. Give them. Right there." He pats the table top. There's a moment more of hesitation (and a moment more of his weird patronizing antics), but she slowly takes her hands from underneath the table. She doesn't know what he's on about, but one—gloved—hand after the other goes into his open palms.

He says nothing.

She narrows her eyes. "What—"

"Rogue I need to talk to you about Feelings."

Her immediate reaction to jerk her hands out of his is stopped short by his strong and heavy grip on her tiny wrists. She can get out of it, but not without seriously hurting him. Which seems like overkill—for now.

"I don't want you to."

"Well I'm going to."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Protest more, this is still happening."

Rogue shakes her arms again, no real effort in it before groaning and slouching in her chair. Scott takes the time to feel triumphant and show it, and she pout-scowls at him from behind white bangs. A year back, Rogue would be so flustered from holding hands with Scott Summers she wouldn't even know what to do. Right now, she's too annoyed slashed weirded out to be excited. There's a bit of silence, breaking finally with Scott. "Great, I'll go first.

"Listen, Rogue. Ever since you decided you're going to go die alone, or whatever your life goal is now," She scoffs at his over generalization of her very real eventuality, "You've been acting like you don't matter." She brings her eyes up to the ruby quartz, nearly daring him to go on. "As if you're not going to have that kind of someone in your life, you have no self-worth. Or worth, really, of any kind."

"You here to tell me Ah'm wrong, Mr Ah'll-Kill-My-Self-If-We-Don't-Save-Jean?" she challenges, with perhaps a little more venom in her voice than she intended.

He breathes in through his nose, but it doesn't faze him. "Yes, I am here to tell you you're wrong. And how I, for once," he's quick to add. "Can't lead by example." THAT has her attention. "You're trying to go it alone, I'm too co-dependent. But anyway," he carries on quickly, and Rogue is a little let down; it's kind of nice hearing Mr Right admit to short comings. Almost… vindicating? Dare she think?

"Of course you're vital to the team, to The Dream." Oh right. Sure. Bring up _that_. The Dream, where she is but one of many and can easily be replaced. That's super convincing. And maybe Scott picked up telepathy from his oh-so-crucial bride, as he changes gears nearly the second she thinks it. "More than that though, you matter to _us_, to people. To Kitty, to Logan, to _Kurt_. Storm, the Professor, and of course me," and she hates, hates, _hates _that her heart takes the time to do a cartwheel.

"Hey, look at me. I'm not done."

She hadn't even realized she'd dropped her eyes. "You'd create a void none of us could fill, if something happened to you. And your…your _lack of interest _in living is really affecting things."

At that she laughs. What the hell does he think of her, anyway? "Ah'm not lookin' to kill myself, Scott, God. Ya'll make me out ta be some kinda depressed spaz."

There's some hesitation from his end of the table. He noticed how she picked her words there. Rogue is very… sensitive about the word Crazy. That's not what she is, okay? Because she's not. So. So don't ever call her that? You'll be worse of ware if you dare to.

He skips it all together. "Living, not Being Alive. You might still have some of the best scores in training, but you're not trying anymore. You decided not to go college, hell you even backed out of your August trip with Logan, and don't pretend you didn't love that trip." She does love that trip. Her and Logan hit the road for a week. Just traveling, driving around and seeing things. She does love those trips. But this year, it just. Why bother?

"So things didn't work out of with Bobby," Scott goes on. "So it happens. Look, most people don't end up marrying the only girlfriend they've ever had. Jean and I are definitely outliers there." Rogue strangely keeps her mouth shut on the subject. "But that's why it's First Love, you know? There's a second, and a third." Rogue attempts to pull her hand away again, but he's got her locked in. "You can think no one's interested, but you just don't notice. There is a guy for you, Rogue." He's level with her now, and she can't figure out why she's holding her breath. "And he going to love everything about you, even the things," and he lifts her hands, gesturing her gloves, "you don't."

His sincerity is making her uncomfortable, and when he lets her go, she instinctively makes fists and draws her hands back to her lap. She cracks her knuckles out of nerves as Scott slides the catalog over her scheduling notes. "Now which do you think Jean would want? The necklace or a bracelet?"

...

When Rogue asked Jean why she had sent Scott that day, Jean admitted it was because she didn't think Rogue would hear her out. Rogue swears to always lend an ear to Jean, because Scott just knew her too well and she hated how far under her skin he got. He was right though; she would find a man who loves all of her, someone she could become completely codependent on. Scott just hates, hates, _hates_ that that man happens to be Gambit.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: All I've learned this summer is that fitting writing into Priorities is something I am awful at. Or just, being plain bad at prioritizing. It needs to get fixed though, because I think I'm a lot better at this than playing Angry Birds, which is seriously all I've been doing since I got an iPhone 4. It's just shameful really. **


	4. Logan

**Author's Note: For Raven34link, because I had no idea how happy I would feel that someone asked for a character. Thank you! 3**

* * *

**And Other Things**

_Playing Favourites_

Logan plays favourites.

All the supervisors are guilty of it; Storm to her nephew and Beast to Forge. Even the Professor, who loves all the students, has a soft spot for Scott. Logan, though? Unashamed, blatant favouritism. On training getaways and field trips, the students aren't allowed to ask the adults for money, but somehow Kitty got a limited edition Pink Ponies plush that was triple what she brought, without spending a dime. Or how _someone_ keeps signing off on X-23's absentee forms, yet when any other team members asks for a signature, every board members says 'no.'

It's all nothing compared to how he treats Rogue, though. She's almost embarrassed at his weak-ass attempts to cover up the unbalanced doting as rewards for being so excellent in the Danger Room—if Logan tries at all. Telling Jamie that no, nobody is getting any more sugar before bed as he hands Rogue a box of Oreos. Threatening that no one had better ask for the television during the hockey game, unless there's something Rogue wants to watch. Snapping at the kids that whine about what's for dinner, because what's on the table is what yer eatin', bub, and be happy about it, unless Rogue is the one complaining, and then actually Logan is going out for some takeout, Rogue do you wanna come?

And that's not even the worst of it.

"Bullshit!"

Rogue is sitting on her graduation present, adjusting the handles to her length. Logan points out the throttle as he grunts in response to Bobby's tantrum.

"Can it, Popsicle."

Bobby throws his diploma case on the ground, and Rogue wonders if he's gonna stomp on it too. "No! You said it was '_too dangerous_' to teach us to ride a motorcycle, and you _freaking buy her one_?" The world is nine times unfair, according to his tone. "She," and he points an angry finger at her, and Rogue keeps her eyes low. She had broken up with him only a few weeks ago, and is still feeling lousy about it. Staying low isn't really her thing, but he's _finally _upset at someone who isn't her and she's not looking to draw his anger her way any more than she already had. "Didn't even want to learn! It was me and Sam!"

Logan grunts again. "It is too dangerous."

"Then freaking why—"

"'Cause Ah can use his healin' if somethin' happens." Which is kind of true, but mostly not. If she falls off the bike, she's road mulch. Like normal, though, Bobby doesn't think about that kind of thing and just huffs. "C'mon, Bobby," she tries again, and in her stomach she knows it's not really worth a try. His angry stare gets worse when his eyes look to her, and she suddenly wishes she hadn't spoken up. "If he shows me, Ah can show ya later."

The healing of a broken hearts hasn't stated yet as he scoffs at her peace offering. "No thanks; I don't want to do anything with _you_." A response she expected. "Congrats, though," and his voice perks up along with her curiosity. "Looks like your mutation is finally worth something." Rogue closes her eyes tight, admitting a small "ouch" with a slight nod. The reference to her break up speech was mean but well played, she has to admit.

Bobby kicks his diploma case against the stairs before picking it up and heading inside, muttering how the world is against him. An adult whose voice she can't place ghosts about _teenagers _before slipping back near the subconscious. In an attempt to defuse the silence, Rogue sighs melodramatically and rolls her head to face Logan.

"You know he's not the only one you told 'No Motorcycles' to."

"So?" he smirks. "You got a fuckin' motorcycle."

Rogue lets out breathy laugh sounds kind of mean. "I _do _have a fuckin' motorcycle."

"_Watch yer mouth, Beserker."_

"_Why don't you ever tell Rogue to watch hers?"_

"'_Cause I'm too busy telling you. Shuddup."_

Or when the underaged drinkers all got caught, had their parents called (if they had any), and any students that doubled as X-men had some severe training punishments…unless your name is Rogue, in which case you're pardoned on account of… some stuff, and your punishment is one-on-one with Logan, which starts with a not-speech about responsible drinking, and if you're gonna drink make sure it's just the good stuff (and since you're Rogue and have already absorbed you Logan know what this list is) and ends with him taking you to his favourite dive biker bar where they don't card at all, and on your second game of pool an offer that, if you ever want to go drinking just ask and he'll take you, oh and probably shouldn't mention to the Professor.

Yeah, _a lot _of her teammates are still bitter about that.

Or how the next time someone breaks curfew, Logan's gonna to start breaking fingers. Unless once, again, your name is Rogue. You a strong, street-wise gal who can watch her back. See you when you get back. Why don't you take your motorcycle?

Or the red convertible Logan got you for your eighteenth birthday? Or his Harley? Need some money?

_Whatever you want, Rogue._

Of course, nobody gets it. Hell, SHE didn't get back in the day either; him always singling her out, forcing her to be the center of attention. God, it's hard enough making friends, Logan. Leave her alone. She thought it was some kind of weird bullying-pushing her harder during training than anyone else, starting her solo DR session on higher levels than the others, and then telling people they couldn't have something _because _she was getting it. His appreciation was masked by her frustration. With age, though, comes a lot of stuff. Like epiphanies. Rogue's came when Logan gave her his old cage fighting belt buckle. What the hell would she ever do with it? Alex had been asking for it, go give it to him, he's the one who thinks it's special. Only, Logan thinks it's special too, and _that's why _he wants her to have it. Even if she never wears it, he wants her to have it. Everything just kinda... made sense after that.

That thanks to that _handy-dandy _side-effect of her mutation, that Rogue knows him better than anyone. Knows when to leave him alone, when to press, when to just sit quietly on a stool in the garage 'cause he doesn't want to chat but does want the company. With Laura, he acts like an estranged father trying to buy back lost time, and on an odder note with Kitty, something of a grandfather? Rogue hasn't dwelled on the thought process there too much.

But to him, Rogue is one of the only dependable things in his life. She dominates the battlefield, challenges him as a way of learning, has his back in a fight, a hand on his shoulder in comfort, and a fist to his face when he's out of line. Years after that graduation gift, when the chips with Jean were finally starting to fall—and not in his favour—Rogue was there with a glass full of ice and a full bottle of John Walker Blue.

Rogue gets it, gets _him_. All anybody wants is to be understood. So when his spoiling of her miffs the team, she thinks _screw 'em_. It's how he appreciates her without saying as much. And it's fine, it's fine. Until _Logan _realizes that all anybody wants is to be understood, and that _Jeannie _understands, and _Rogue_ understands better than her, and suddenly Gambit's weary stares at Logan when he's with her kind of seem more justified.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, so I actually have two more of these done up. The goal is to stay ahead, so I can get on to some kind of updating schedule? Like some other neat people. So I guess, feel free to ask for someone. Even if they've already been done, there's a ton to say about everyone I bet! Also, what are the rules on language again? Can a story still be T, once the f-bomb is dropped? I'm changing it to be safe, but I'd love clarification.  
**

**Review as you please!**


	5. Emma

**Author's Note: For Solunita**

* * *

**And Other Things**

_Making Friends_

Rogue has trouble getting along with other girls.

It's not from a lack of effort—at least, not from said other girls. Rogue could try a little harder, maybe. Or a lot. After years of rooming with Kitty, who is very much a girl, in every girlie possible way _holy crap_, Rogue just knows that Friends That Are Girls just aren't for her. Rogue just feels like she's doing it wrong. Shopping is awesome, sure! She goes all the time, buys lots of things. Clothes are amazing. _Because they cover her up. _She doesn't go to pick out little shorts, and every cammie gets an over shirt with sleeves that reach past her palms. She doesn't try on her outfits because that would be stripping in public, and just the thought of that makes her nauseous. Boys are an even worse topic. Originally something she had no hope of, and then became something to avoid to spare herself the eventuality of it all, has since bled into her life in the most awful and wonderful ways. God it used to be so simple! Cover up and be mean to guys. Easiest thing.

Stupid, _stupid _Gambit. Rogue paws through her closest, looking for something she's not even sure of. It _was _the easiest thing, anyway. But now she has a _boyfriend_—Goddamn it—and now she has to be extra careful to cover up because this _boyfriend _can't keep his hands to himself. But covering up isn't enough, no not all, because she has a _boyfriend_, and that means the covering up has to be aesthetically pleasing. And those hands her _boyfriend _can't keep to himself? Yeah, he likes to put those _everywhere_. Her arms, hips, around her waist. So she had better layer up, in case there's a tear. Not too many layers, though, because even though she tells her _boyfriend _not to touch her, she loves it. Loves it, wants it, waits for him do it, and if she's wearing too much, she can't feel any of it, like when he trails his fingers down her back—

"Do you mind?"

Rogue whirls around so fast she stumbles in her closest. With a curse she stomps into her room, embarrassed. Emma Frost, one of the newer members to the team, is sitting on her bed. Lounging, really. In the tiny white out and long matching boots atop the dark purple sheets, she's ready for some kind of adult calendar.

"Mind what?" Of course, such imagery is wasted on Rogue. The question comes out kind of accusing, but Rogue's just flustered that someone got the drop on her in her own room.

"You're _projecting_," Emma responds. Her I'm-so-bored-with-you attitude is grating enough, but somehow her accent just makes it that much worse. "I was trying to read in my room, but your thoughts kept thundering down the hall." Red is starting to creep along Rogue's cheeks. "I came to ask you to kindly _stop it_, but the show got good." She shrugs and her impossibly shiny hair swishes against the sheets.

Emma's unique—even for a mutant. Not unique like Rogue (she's one of a kind), but unique like Remy; while multiple mutations are common, unrelated mutations in one person is definitely different. Gambit has his empathy and biokineticks abilities that weave to form some interesting bonuses. For example, telepaths can't read his mind because the kinetic energy and empathy create something the professor calls Static. Rogue's mutation causes a similar effect: there's so much going on in her mind, telepaths can't _find _her mind to read. Emma is unique in that she's a telepath, and can take on an entirely different form. More like Colossus than Morph, she can turn herself to diamond. It's kind of a trip to watch.

"What show?" Rogue's arms are crossed and she has to fight not to dart her eyes around the room.

Emma gives another lazy day shrug, twisting her body so she's on her side as she speaks to Rogue, her head propped on her hand. "You were thinking so hard about these _delicious _things your boyfriend does, images were starting to flash." Rogue sucks in air through her teeth as the blush starts to burn down her neck. _What did she see?—_

"Nothing," Emma answers the thought out loud, and Rogue swears. Emma laughs. "You kept jumping; every time you got to the feel good, _pleasurey _bits," and Rogue knows, freaking _knows _that Emma is picking her words on purpose and it is **working**: her face must be purple in shame. "You'd get mad, and skip to the next. Frustrating, really, to a spectator. If you're going to make me watch the show, might as well leave in the good parts."

"_Got it_," Rogue hisses. "Won't happen again. Goodbye."

Apparently that wasn't the answer Emma was expecting. Emma doesn't get to know Rogue very well, being unable to sift through the chaos, she can't scope Rogue out like nearly everyone else in the mansion. "Oh, uhm." She pushes herself up, her legs tucking more underneath her, but the soles of her boots still aren't on the sheets. "Wait. You still need to find something to where, don't you darling?" Emma nods to herself. "I can help."

Rogue snorts in the most unlady like manner as one of her hands finds her hip. "Not likely; Ah actually _wear _clothes." The low cut blouse's buttons only come up to _beneath _her heaving breasts, and Rogue suspects that skirt is actually a belt.

Emma remains unfazed. "The black leggings," she suggests, and points back into the closest. "And the green dress, the one with the long sleeves and turtle neck." Rogue gives her a skeptical glance before deciding to hell with it, it's not like she had an ideas. As she searches the hangers, Emma goes on. "Any black gloves will do, and longer boots probably. And wear your hear down—"

"Alright, thanks for yer help," Rogue bites very quickly, shrugging off her sweater. "You are welcome to leave. You know. _Now_." She has half a mind to scrap the outfit in her annoyance, but she pulls the dress on over her head anyway. "Your book is callin'."

Her room is quiet but it's not empty. "I can read it later."

Outfit on, Rogue sighs heavily as she comes out of her closest, holding the black gloves she's traded for the brown one she had on before. "_Emma_." She shakes out the gloves, giving the older woman a solid stare. "What do you want?" Emma is laying back down, looking ridiculous and seductive in what is obviously a pose. "I'm not Scott, stop trying to seduce me."

She takes it as a compliment. "What can I say? My _savoir-faire_ shows its best in bed."

Rogue rolls her eyes. Her back to Emma, she starts going through her shoes. "Nice to know, _Gambit._" It makes Emma laugh, and Rogue can hear her moving to sit normally again. Well. Normal for Emma, anyway.

"The long ones, past the knee," she insists again, and while Rogue casts her sidelong stare she grabs them anyway. "When are you meeting your Cajun lover?"

The term makes her skin prickle with a blood rush, so she keeps herself turned away as she pulls on one boot. "Later." And then the other. "Like three." The silence is heavy and pregnant. Rogue turns from where she's sitting on the floor to give Emma a pointed _why are you here _look. Only it quick melts in to an understanding frown. People with pride recognize each other right away, and try to keep their distance. They don't usually care for the struggle for dominance, because as long as they aren't messing with each other, they ARE the dominant one in their respective groups. It's why Rogue left her alone to begin with. Another reason is that it's hard enough to ask for help. It's even harder to ask it of someone of self-sufficient same-mindedness. Rogue might not get on with other girls, but it's by choice. Emma's gotten a pretty solid snubbing since she got here—something that's only gotten worse since she's started making eyes at Scott and everyone has noticed, and it seems to Rogue 'making friends' is something Emma is just straight _bad at._

Why is she here?

Because she's _lonely_.

"Uhm," Rogue starts. She's not unsympathetic to her cause. Going from Extra Bad Guy to Sort of Good Guy is a rough transition Rogue herself had to make (and is still helping Gambit through). She had it pretty bad for Scott back in the day, too. "Ah guess that makes my mornin' free. Wanna head out for lunch? There ain't much here, Ah don't think."

"Oh, I suppose," is her airy answer, but Rogue knows better because it comes too quickly. "I _have_ been meaning to find out more about you and that _delicious_ Remy."

"**No**."

…

They do talk about Gambit, and nearly every conversation after that includes some kind of offer from Emma to _council _them. Because she's a _sex therapist, _did you know that? Rogue didn't. Man, the kind of people who end up in her phone. And of course, Emma would never admit out loud how grateful she is to Rogue for making those friendly offers when she first joined the X-men, how she values Rogue as an actual _friend_. She would only learn about those silent 'thank you's after she absorbs her. She will also learn at the same time that Emma's affection for Scott isn't as hopeless of a cause as Rogue's was.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: Here you are, Solunita! Hope it's too your liking. Emma's kind of a blast XD Shame she never made it to Evo. Requests are still open, and I will hopefully have two more characters up by the end of the night. **

**Review as you please!**


	6. Mystique

**Author's Note: For Anna Marcia Gregorio, queenith2 and Raven24link**

* * *

**And Other Things**

_Mother's Day_

Rogue never introduces herself as an orphan.

She might've been adopted, but she's not without parents. You know, her real ones. They're both still alive, down in Mississippi. She doesn't talk about them though, so don't bother asking, okay? Some shit just hurts too much. If you _do _manage to work up the courage bring it up—and she doesn't totally blow you off slash blow up at you—Rogue will speak of Irene, and their time together. The couple of years they spent together would be the lightest part of her life for a long while. Now, when she says that, she means Irene, alright? And Irene _only_. For those keeping track at home (or your name is Kitty Pryde), one notices that there's a mysterious chunk of time missing from before Irene but after her parents.

Those were years with Mystique. She doesn't pay attention to any of those days. In fact, if it has anything to do with the shape shifter at all, she pretty much just walks out of the room.

So colour Rogue surprised when Mystique slides into the seat across from her at the café she's waiting for Gambit at. It's a form Rogue hasn't seen in a long time. Valerie.

"Get the _hell_ outta that seat."

Mystique doesn't, of course. Because it might kill her to do Rogue a favour, Christ. "Why would I?" She asks, reclining. She might look like Val, but she isn't bothering to act like her. Mystique's personality and that kind face are giving Rogue the heebe jeebes. "It's for me."

"No, it's for—" The snarl gargles to a halt. "_Remy_." They don't talk about it often because it's such a sore subject, but Rogue and Gambit disagree heavily on family. What that word actually means, and how it should be treated. Mystique herself is a nasty hot button. Gambit will still do anything for his family, no matter how much he grumbles; their first 'date' is proof enough of that. Rogue on the other hand is of the less forgiving sort. Hank theorized that perhaps Gambit doles out forgiveness because of how badly he craves it, while Rogue rarely has to seek it and therefore is even less likely to bestow it, or however he talks. The short of it, Remy thinks if Mystique wants a chance she should have. Rogue thinks she can die in a fire.

Son of a _bitch _set her up. There will be so many words later. _Holy_ _shit_, would there be words later. The story must be easily read from Rogue's face, as Mystique has taken Rogue's coffee and stares at her over it with a knowing smirk and amused twinkle in her eye.

"Oh don't be too cross with him." She takes a sip, and _mm_s at the cinnamon and dark chocolate. Rogue's eyes are narrowed to slits. "He owes me, anyway."

"You don't say." It's not a question. Fucking _really_. Lord Almighty is that going to be one hell of a conversation when she sees his good for nothing, thieving, lying Cajun ass.

"All the more reason to leave him." Because Mystique has never liked Rogue with Remy. Rogue's always considered it a point in his favour. "Not that you'd take _my_ advice, but anyway—"

"You're right, Ah won't."

"—_that aside_, today is an important day for us," she finishes in a clipped tone, and it's just enough for Rogue to know she's starting to lose her patience. Rogue knows she probably can't keep the triumph from flashing in her eyes, so she takes a moment to flip her hair over her shoulder and check her reflection in the glass that runs along the café. An important day, huh? And what day is that? If she fesses up she doesn't know, the ball's in Mystique's court. Today, today…

_Oh_.

"Dunno why it'd matter for us," Rogue shrugs, trying her best to imitate Gambit's nonchalance. She rolls her shoulders backwards as she leans into the back of the chair, and from the slightest tick at the end of her right eyebrow, Rogue can tell Mystique is _hating _how much Rogue is acting like her boyfriend. "Ain't like we're related."

"No, but there's no harm in spending time with someone whom raised you."

"Ah already called Irene." Which is totally a lie by the way, but she will call her as soon as she gets home. If only to give her an alibi for when they find Gambit's body.

Rogue has to fight not to smile at the shape shifter's frown. "Look, since you don't feel like playing nice…" Mystique drops her hand beneath the table, and Rogue pushes back quickly on reflex. Mystique snorts, muttering 'oh _please_,' and Rogue feels incredibly foolish as the embarrassed blush spreads down her neck. Screw Mystique, she did that on purpose. She's done all kinds of terrible shit to her own kids, and seeing how Rogue isn't even one of them, something nasty could be heading her way.

If it's a weapon, it's tastefully wrapped one. Dark purple paper, tied over with a lavender bow, and Rogue's a little sad that only like, three people on the planet know that it's her favourite colour. Most of the world assumes it's green. Just 'cause it's what she looks best in doesn't mean it's number one.

"That a bomb?"

Mystique chuckles, and takes another sip from Rogue's coffee (no seriously, _screw her_.)

"Happy Mother's Day."

Rogue stares at her. It starts as a low chuckle, deep in her chest, something that's shaking her shoulders. It bubbles and erupts into a loud humourless laughter that takes Rogue so hard, she's nearly doubled over the table. There's a steel silence form the other side of the table, and Rogue is still giggling when she lifts her head just high enough to place her hand beneath her chin. She's flushed from ear to ear, and her eyes are shiny with a dark mirth.

"Do you…" She laughs some more. "Do ya'll understand motherhood in the _slightest _capacity?" She wipes at a tear before it can leave her eye. Lord, this is _hilarious_. Mystique is sitting with her shoulders straight, defensive. "_You're _giving _me _a gift today?" Another fit of mean laughter as she leans back, determined to sit up. It's proving quite the challenge. "Lord! Ya'll do it wrong from every angle, don't you?" She's quieted down to a snicker against the back of her hand. It'd be funny if it wasn't so sad. She's laughing anyway.

She struck some kind of nerve, though. Instead of some kind of snide remark like she'd been somewhat expecting, she got an honest and hurt filled stare. "Look, I'm just trying to be decent about this—"

Another outburst of laughter. "Decent!" Rogue quiets down, and despite the smile that's stuck on her face right now, her words are far from friendly. "Ain't nothing decent about strong armin' a gal's boyfriend into tricking her." She runs a hand through her hair, finally calming down.

"Now go call Kurt." She takes her coffee back. "Since he actually gives a shit about you."

The idea is unheard of. "You _know _you're my favourite—"

With a quick jerk of her arm—and an equally quick spike of anger—Rogue tosses the no longer scalding coffee in Mystique's face.

"Well ya'll _know _ya ain't mine."

…

Irene had foreseen the events of that day and was good enough not to ask about it, bless her. Rogue spared Remy also, but if anyone asks it's because it was at Irene's request and Rogue hadn't had anything else to give her as a gift, okay? Unsurprisingly, Mystique didn't get a hold of Kurt.

Rogue considers that day a win as a whole; a personal victory on the path to separating herself from Mystique. Later, though, Rogue would find she's frighteningly more like the woman who raised her than she could have ever realized.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: The most requested character! I always had to laugh at Mystique and Magento in the comics; they have Christ knows how many children dotted around the globe, and all they care about is Rogue. Never mind all the kids she actually **_**had**_**, Mystique wants **_**this **_**one; and forget about the fact that Magento is more of a kiss of the death than Rogue, since_ not a single mother of any of his offspring is still alive_, he wants a _new_ family with Rogue. Good lord XD**


	7. Kitty

**Author's Note: For ALLREMS, who worried Kitty wouldn't get her own chapter because of her cameos.**

* * *

**And Other Things**

_Girl Talk_

Kitty is Rogue's best friend.

Rogue might have trouble admitting this out loud unless backed into a corner, but it's no less true. Logan isn't so much a kindred spirit as _the _kindred spirit, and Remy is what makes her whole, but neither know her as well as Kitty, knows her the way Kitty knows her. How Remy tells her he loves her with his hands and Logan's subtle upward nod of understanding are nothing to the complex conversations the two girls have in silence while facing away from each other. Sure, a lot of it is from sharing a room for three years, but some people just _click_. That's what they've done, they've clicked. Clicked, fitted, locked. Rogue can't bring herself to do and say many things in fear of judgement (from others, from herself), but Kitty provides a safe place for Rogue to be ignorant and foolish and just her Goddamn age without pause.

Kitty is only a part time X-man anymore. Out of high school, she's gone off to college, and visits the mansion on holidays she's not spending with her parents. Or when the world is trying to end around them and it's all hands on deck. You know. Whichever. The point is, Rogue never sees her anymore and it's wearing her thin. Rogue's too embarrassed to ask certain questions or talk about certain subjects, and though Kitty might laugh and tease her, she's never treated Rogue like her wonders were stupid or told anyone about them. 'Loose lips sink ships' and Kitty's practically a freaking Admirable, but somehow Rogue's shy inquiries never make it out of whatever room they're talking it.

It's whatever holiday her college has off now, and Kitty chatters on and on about her classes, California and Pitor as she rearranges Rogue's room without permission. Rogue says nothing, sitting in the center of her bed, trying to work up the nerve to ask. Once the conversation gets going she's fine, but Rogue starts with a nervousness.

Kitty suddenly stops pacing about and puts her hands on her hips, staring down her tiny nose at Rogue. "Well?"

Rogue looks at her gloves. "What."

"Ohmigosh!" Kitty stomps in her ballerina flats. "Like, how long do I have to do this? If you need more time or whatever, like, help me stall."

Rogue smiles and sighs. "Alright." She pulls her knees up to her chest, feeling the prickling of a blush climb up her cheeks. Apparently it's too much to ask that Kitty doesn't notice her the red in her face and her tiny eyebrows shoot up into her bangs. "Ah was wonderin', about. Uhm." Lord, she hasn't even gotten the words out, this is bad. She feels some slack is cut her way as Kitty magical reads her mind.

With a squeal, she hops onto the end of the bed. "It's a sexy question, isn't it?" She claps her hands excitedly. "Are you getting sexy with Remy?"

"Wh-fft-ya'll can't just-_NO_!" Rogue snaps at her, frustrated that she let herself get caught off guard by that. A disgruntled sigh, "Well, maybe." Another squeal and Rogue groans leaning back into her pillow. "Ah just... Look, Bobby said something."

Her excitement doesn't diminish but her eyes do narrow. "Did Dorkasaurus-Rex say something stupid?" Rogue shakes her head, and Kitty has no patience for her hesitance. "Well then what about Bobby and your sexy time with Remy?"

"Dear Lord, please stop callin' it that!"

"No. Now tell me what happened."

Rogue shoots her a look, before dropping her stare back to her gloves. "It's kind of a dumb, long story-"

"-I _love _stories-"

"-so I'mma just skip to what he said," Rogue finishes, unwilling to gossip. It pretty much boiled down to some of the guys talking locker room BS, and it wound up coming out that while Gambit's hands have full roaming privileges over her clothes, it's all he has. Bobby tracked her down the next day.

_"Look, so it's none of my business anymore," he begins, sitting across from her in the library. "But seriously? Let a dude get creative." At her confused stare, he pushes on. "C'mon, Rogue. What happened to us is gonna happen with him. Just because the roller coaster's broken doesn't mean they close the amusement park. You find something else to do."_

Kitty's jaw is dropped. "Shut UP, he did _not _say that." Rogue nods her head, waiting for her friend's outburst. "Kind of impressed somebody said something." Uh, excuse her? Where's the like, oh my God he was so out of line? The rant about ex-boyfriends butting out?

"Who's side are ya on, Kitty?"

"The side of happiness, Rogue." Rogue wonders how fast she has to swing her pillow to catch the side of Kitty's head before she phases. Maybe Kitty senses that danger too, as she goes on. "You're like, so all or nothing. And there is definitely nothing wrong with that," she assures her very quickly as Rogue inhales through her nose with drawn down eyebrows. "But there's also, like. This in between area? That has like, so much stuff." She nods to herself. "One door closes, others open, you know?"

Rogue stares at her. "Kitty, Ah can't-_we _can't-"

"Pssh, Rogue. _Pssh_." Kitty waves her off. "Look at Petey and me." Before Rogue can ask what she means, "We don't get to have normal sex." Rogue's brain comes to a screeching halt. Kitty laughs at her. "Uhm, he is like, way bigger than me. I cannot get my legs around him, I am way too tiny." And while Rogue's never even thought about that before, she suddenly can't get the picture of someone holding up two Popsicle sticks to a ham hock away from her mind fast enough. "Standing up, like in shower, right? Totally not an option: the height difference between us is terrifying, and I choose life."

Rogue snorts, and thankfully no mental image of that comes to mind. "What I mean is, like. You have to make do."

"What _do_ you do?" because Rogue can't help herself.

"Oh, I'm on top," she laughs. "It's like the Vertical Drop. It's like whee!" She throws her hands up in the air to mimic free falling and Rogue quickly clamps her hands over her mouth to quiet the laughter. She's always felt weird laughing at those jokes: like when you're little, and you laugh because you know it's funny even though you don't know _why_? "I climb stairs and everything."

"Awesome," Rogue sniggers, and ventures out, "Is it..is he that...big?"

"Ha!" Kitty flops around so she's on her stomach. "Despite my Petey-sweetie being like, nineteen of me, his penis is totally within my realm of comfort." She puts her head in her hands and looks up at Rogue. "So see? You can like, totally work with stuff."

"Work with _what_?" Rogue lays on her side and curls so she's facing Kitty. "So ya'll are denied some _positions_. Ah don't even have _that_."

Kitty rolls her eyes and Rogue blinks at the legitimate annoyance in her voice. "No, seriously? Are you that, like. Close minded?" Kitty waves her hand in front of Rogue's face, who scrunches her nose. "People with like, skin disorders are still totally getting it on." Rogue snorts and turns her face into her comforter. She hates that comparison. It's not the same, you know? "There's even fetishes about people being fully clothed." Rogue looks back at Kitty.

"Wut."

"Spend more time on the internet. Please." Rogue flushes.

"Hours every night."

Kitty's eyes go big. "Ooo, something dirty?"

"...no."

"You are _so_ boring," Kitty sighs at Rogue's honesty. Yeah, boring. Is that how Remy sees her? Rogue presses her face back into the comforter.

She can feel her friend staring at the side of her head. "Why don't you just hit Third Base like a big rig with no breaks?"

Rogue coughs and chokes, nearly inhaling the fabric.

It took the rest of the night and the involvement of Emma, but Rogue finally found a conclusion she would be satisfied with; a very specific, very _thin _pair of gloves was given to Remy with the instructions that if he wore them and **only **if he wore them, he could dress her for bed, and even then it was only going to be every once in a while. Rogue thought they were going to faint: her from nerves, and him from restraint. Somehow that talented, charismatic _bastard _managed to alter the deal into **un**dressing also, and near every night. It would lead to an intimacy that excited and scared her, and she'd tell Kitty all about it when It happened.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hopefully more humorous than our last chapter (shit got dark, for such a fluffy series). Kitty! Finally making her own appearance. Huzzah! I always liked Pitor being 6'5" pre-armor and Kitty being 5'2". Destroys me every time. I've got Kurt started, and I'm going to do my best to have him up before New Years. Who should we start the new year with then?**

**Read and Review as you please!**


	8. Kurt

**Author's Note: For Anna Marcia Gregorio, Solunita, Raven34link, and ALLREMS  
**

* * *

**And Other Things**

_Christmas Spirit  
_

Rogue's favourite holiday is Christmas.

Everyone goes away for the winter break, and there's no one in the mansion but a couple of adults and the orphans. The Professor splurges on the lonely children, not to mention her friends return in the new year with more things for her. Logan will show up with two suitcases full of stuff: one her, one for everyone else. The snow sucks balls, but she just occupies her room with the heater way up because Kitty's gone and can't complain about the heat. The mansion's foyer is tastefully wrapped in garland and lights _à la_ Jean, and the antechamber is rearranged to stuff in the gigantic **holiday** tree ("because, like,_ some of us_ celebrate different things, okay?").

The other thing that makes Christmas pretty cool, is that even when you don't believe in religion or commercialism or whatever people say Christmas is, everyone recognizes that it's time to be kinder. Rogue's never had to suit up between Baby Jesus' birthday party and January second. Even annoying, stupid, crazy, wonderful, attractive, stupid Gambit disappeared from her life to...to. Huh. She doesn't know where he went. To meet with family? Not like she cares or anything. Whatever. It's just weird that stupid stalker Cajun talks her ear off about the dumbest stuff but never mentioned where he was going for Christmas, or how long he'll be away from her. Stupid.

Anyway.

Rogue sits in front of tree on the floor, having barricaded herself against the wall with wrapped boxes. In her fortress of presents, Rogue tries to guess what she's getting.

"_Vell,_" and Rogue snaps her head up towards entrance, an explanation for her actions crashing into the back of her teeth. "Tsat's not much in tse _Weihnachtsgeist_."

Rogue swallows her squeal and pushes herself up and, nearly stumbling over the wall of presents, hurries around the couch to hug her brother. "Kurt!" He laughs and squeezes her tightly. "What are ya doin here? Thought you were goin back to Germany fer the holidays, aint'cha?" Because when she's excited her Southern shows the most.

"Vell, I was, _ja_, but." He goes no further, and she pulls away from him to look at his face. The fuzz on his skin can't hide the crease in his brow and just as she's about to demand what's wrong, he ports them over to her fort. She stumbles and he keeps her from falling into the coffee table. "But I had to come see your amazing architect skills!"

She snorts, fanning away the last of the smoke from her face. "Not _that _amazing."

"No seriously, I tsould have gotten you Lincoln Logs."

"Shut up." She mock scowls and cuffs him on the shoulder before giving him a sly glance. "But. You _did_ get me somethin', right?"

His smile is sad and the worry line in his forehead is back. "We, ah." He looks around them. "Let's sit. I have sometsing I must tell you."

They tuck themselves into the fort that, with Kurt's help, has become something of an igloo. A moment of silence, and Kurt's unusual behavior has her nervous which leads to meaner emotions. "Ya'll gonna explain some time soon?"

"I've decided to become a priest."

Rogue's eyes widen and her jaw drops. He going to _what_? Her hands fall lamely to her lap and she can't do much more than stare. He's gonna... gonna...? He exhales with a nervous chuckle, and Rogue wonders if this is supposed to be some kind of a bat _guano_ Christmas joke. It's almost in slow motion when Kurt reaches up and pushes his hood off his head. Her eyes bug out and she double takes. His self described lovely lushes locks are gone. This hair is just barely long enough to start to curl.

"It's the priesthood, Kurt; not the military."

He laughs, rubbing his hands on his knees. "_Ja, ja, aber..._" He's slipping into German. How nervous is _he_? "Tsis is a big change for me, you know? I vant to-no. _Need _to be ready to change."

"So you cut your hair off, Samson?"

"Baby steps, _mein schwester_."

"Yeahsir."

More awkward silence. They both find other things to look at in different directions. Kurt has always played his religion close to his chest, half the mansion doesn't even know he_ is_ Catholic. It's not a topic he starts or tries to take part in, and Rogue's only known him to go to church on Easter Sunday when he's state side. She's rarely absorbed her brother, and a quick sifting through of his memories reveals this is a decision he's made since the last time she'd needed his powers.

A massive flaw in his plan comes to mind, but he changes gears before she can ask.

"So vhat do you tsink you got?" he asks with a forced ease, lifting up a box.

"That's from Bobby, so pro'lly another silly stuffed animal." 'Silly.' All of Rogue's stuffed animals are from Bobby, that he gives her at her birthday parties and Christmas. He's designs them at those Build-A-Bear shops, and every single one of them have terrible, filthy names. She arranges them on her Papa-san chair so the tags remain hidden, but she really does find it hilarious.

"Mm. And tsis?"

"Jean, so jewelry."

"Mr McCoy?"

"Book or Books."

"Scott."

"Painfully practical."

"Vhat about-"

"Amanda."

"Vhat?"

"What about Amanda, Kurt?"

He shifts uncomfortable next to her. Amanda has been Kurt's ever supportive girlfriend, always encouraging him and never siding against him. Rogue can't imagine her being anything but helpful in his decisions, but even this seems like a stretch. While some priests _can _have wives, that's not Kurt's sect of Catholicism. He's going to go straight monk.

"She said she tsinks it's beautiful."

_Of course she does_, Rogue's mind deadpans, and she sighs. "So nothin' holdin' you back, huh?"

"E'sept you."

"'Scuse me?"

He nudges a bright green present out of the way so he can face her. "Rogue, I von't be available. For a long time." She squints at him in confusion. "I vill have to go avay. I von't be here for tse X-men. Or for you."

Rogue takes a deep breath, really thinking what that means. But she stops, because she might cry. Instead she laughs just a little, and says, "Fine, but my blessing counts as your Christmas present."

He blinks at her. "Hey! Tsat's not very fair!"

"Says who?"

"Says anyone!" he exclaims, tossing his hands into the air. She laughs at him. "It is tse season of _giving_, Rogue!"

"Ah'm _giving _you my blessin'," she responds matter-of-factly.

"Vhile taking sometsing else away!"

"Ya'll still got something."

He crosses his arms, pouting as he teases her."_Mien _own sister. A Scrooge."

"Hey, Ah'm doin' ya'll a favour," she says, cuffing his arm with her fist. "You're gonna have to give up all world possessions, aren't you?"

Kurt sputters at her. "Not for anotser veek!"

A week is too soon, but she pushes the sadness away. "You already cut your hair," she points out mischievously.

"Oh I am _so _not going to miss _tsis_," he sighs and smiles at her, flopping against the wall. Rogue settles next to him, tucked in at his side. The lights on the tree twinkle, and they chatter on quietly about his calling until sleep takes them both.

...

In the morning, Rogue let Kurt have his materialistic present anyway; he held his new hand-held too close to his face and the 3D made him dizzy. A final hug that would never be long enough and he was gone in a _bamf _to the gates, where his taxi awaited him. That would not be the last time Rogue saw her bother-but it would be how she likes to remember him.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: IS THAT A CHRISTMAS STORY AFTER CHRISTMAS why yes it is. It must be a Christmas miracle. That being said, Bam! Made it. Kept my word (for once XD) Two in a day, yeah! I actually had a lot of trouble with this, but weirdly the Kurt pt 2 idea is already setting up camp in my brain. Sorry this took so long, to all of those who requested Kurt in... the summer.**

**Read and review as you please! HAPPY NEW YEAR!  
**


	9. Hank

**Author's Note: [tumbleweed] Enjoy the update while I clean the dust off this.**

* * *

**And Other Things**

_Doctor's Orders_

Rogue has crap defense.

Between her long stint of invulnerability and years of piggybacking off Logan's healing factor, dodging and blocking just have never become priorities to her. For a long while, if she took a hit, Rogue couldn't feel it; and if it did manage to leave a mark, well, a high-five from the Wolverine would fix that up in no time. It's gotten her into the incredibly poor habit of _not getting out of the way of things_. With that invulnerability gone and Logan's soul searching journeys taking him farther away, it's only a matter of time before her lack of self-preservation catches up with her in a bad way.

Today is that day.

A lively, spirited and _uncooperative_ young mutant calling herself Surge zapps Rogue with a bust of electricity dead on—_literally_. Rogue hits the ground with a stopped heart, and it's only Colossus' immediate and vigorous attempts (he cracks two ribs) that gets it going again.

Now in the medbay, Rogue sits with an arm wrapped around her chest as she works on shallow breathes, waiting for heavy duty pain medication to kick in.

"Good news." She turns towards the announcement from her doorway, where there's a fuzzy blue face hidden behind a clipboard. "The damage is _very_ typical."

"_Hooray_." It's a dry response, and Dr McCoy looks at her over his charts. "So Ah'm free?"

He snorts, taking a seat. "An optimistic conclusion, but _no_. Must I remind you, you suffered an—albeit brief—cardiac arrest."

There's a guilty pause from the bed.

"Ah got better."

"Indeed you did," and Hank sets the metal clipboard down, before giving her a pointed look. "And we will be sure to_ thank_ Piotr for that, won't we." She nods. Rogue is always grateful when helped. It just isn't verbalized often. "Outstanding! Now then, about your recovery—"

"Where's Gambit?"

He blinks at her interruption. "Not here."

"_What_." Rogue lets out an frustrated sigh. It sounds especially bad, as the deep breath aggravates her cracked ribs. "That_ jerk_," she heaves. Gritting her teeth, she looks around for her communicator near her uniform. "Ah'm all laid up, an' he ain't even _around_—"

An admonishing, "No, no," follows the clipboard now blocking her view of her things. She looks up at the now standing, and very amused, Hank McCoy. "I banished him from the infirmary."

She gapes at him.

"_Why_ on Sam Hil—"

"Because," and he seems happy it's his turn to interrupt her. "You currently suffer from a weakened heart, Rogue." That apparently explains nothing to her. He sighs good naturedly, holding out the chart for her to see.

"Your heart rate spikes whenever Remy is around. Whether you're elated to see him, or trying to kill him with your eyes—"

"One time!" she insists loudly. She knows what he's talking about. That glare could have melted glass. More quietly, "_One time_."

"—and any rapid palpitations is exceedingly dangerous," he goes on, like there wasn't an outburst. "Your heart has already dipped into dysrhythmia, and when it finally restored rhythm, bradycardia is the pace." Rogue mutely stares. He isn't aware of her lost expression, flipping through the pages. "And seeing as how a very crude cardioversion is what got us here in the first place, I am incredibly disagreeable to the idea of attempting it as a restoration method." Finally noticing her look, "I don't want to overload your conduction system."

Stare.

"It could inspire myocardial infarction."

Stare.

"A heart-attack, Rogue."

"Oh." Her nose scrunches. Hank was a boy genius that became a man genius, with something ridiculous like nine degrees. She wonders if he ever feels like that goes to waste on some of them. Still, if anyone knows how to roll with the punches, it's Hank McCoy. Blue and furry wasn't even his initial mutation; in trying to find an anti-mutagen for the X-gene, he had decided to look to the source material. Like with many afflictions, the cure is often found in the poison. Unfortunately, something went wrong, and it _accelerated_ his mutation's growth.

You reap what you sow, and the big, blue man in the lab coat before her reaped the hell out of it. The king of lemons to lemonade but never annoyingly optimistic, Rogue has never not been inspired by his story. She learned the moral, though, too; there is _no_ 'cure'. Screwing with one's double helix is a double edged sword, and sometimes one just needs to let things be what they are.

In fact, it's Hank's disastrous results that has kept her from Muir Island, and from ever touching the inhibitor collar. Both offer nullification, but at painful costs. That's okay. She'll just deal with no touching, thanks.

She'd rather not end up hairy and blue.

"There's no way to make sure Ah don't run int'a him, though," she points out, kneading at her sore side. The co-proxamol's effects are really starting to hit her.

"Correct!" When he agrees, her suspicions grow. "Which is why he is banished from here, and here is where you'll stay."

"What! _No_!" she protests, and he stuffs his big paws into his deep pockets.

"Yes."

That's not a good enough answer for her. "Ah don't wanna," she whines, slowly lowering herself back onto the bed.

His cheery, "Doctor's orders," is of no help. Laying down feels better than sitting, and the arm not massaging her sore ribs covers her eyes.

"The hell am Ah 'sposed to _do_ here?"

"_Rest_, Rogue," he tells her. She groans as he walks to the wall. He twists a dial, lowering the lights. "Take all the energy you spend on maintaining the health and welfare of others, and disburse it upon your self."

"Ah_ never_ do that." It's almost lost in her yawn.

"Hence, _why_ we are here."

She lifts her arm to deliver a half-hearted glare, and he chuckles softly. "Your heart rate also increases when you activate your mutation, so don't bother asking Logan down here. I've already warned him away." She 'tch's at him, as he draws the curtain near the desk along and around to hide the light from the monitors. "So for now, observed bed rest."

"Ya'll don't even know if that'll work."

"Thus the apt title: practicing medicine."

"You're a hack, Dr McCoy."

The low rumble of his laughter follows her to sleep.

-…-

In the morning, her heart was right as rain, and so were her ribs. Logan 'accidentally' touched her while reaching for a wrench in the garage. Rogue made a real effort to keep out of the medbay after that, and while she made an impressive run out of it, good things find their ends; the next time she's wheeled in is for something so much worse, with just as little to be done about it.

And Hank would gladly take a spike in her heart rate then, as he digs the claws on his toes into the tile to keep from sliding in all the blood. At least then, it would mean her heart was beating within her crushed chest.

But more on that later.

* * *

**Author's Note: Man, I haven't fic'd in 5ever. I'm sorry, guys. I can't promise a return, but I'll clean up the ol' profile page. See if that doesn't spark anything. Also, now that I can edit a chapter again without taking the old one down first, I'm going to fix up the previous installments. Those things are lousy with typos. So is this, probably. At least now I can always go back to fix it.  
**


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